Death of the Light
by Jaina Solo2
Summary: Reply to October Challenge fic. Set after Season Three. Syd reflects on her life six years in the future.


Disclaimer: I own none of this. You know that. It's called fan fiction.  
  
The breeze waved lightly through the trees and the shadows danced on the ground in the bright sunlit afternoon. The sole occupant of a black Mercedes watched as a woman and a small child stood in front of a grave. The boy clung to his mother's hand, already wearing his Halloween costume, eagerly anticipating the night of trick or treating to come. He was dressed as a hockey player. She didn't even have to look closely to know that the jersey he was wearing bore a King's logo. As she noted his tousled hair and the way the jersey hung slightly large on his small frame, she had to tear her eyes away from him. He was too much like his father and for the moment, she couldn't afford the distraction that he would be or the thoughts that he would conjure up. With an effort she focused on the woman beside him.  
  
She knew, of course, that this woman was the boy's mother. She would never forget this woman's face. This woman had inadvertently become so much apart of her life and it was all because of him. She could tell though, that the mother clearly wasn't as enthused about this day as her son was. She understood. She shared the memory of this day, the remembered pain that they had shared on this very holiday six years ago. Now, today she had the power to end it. All she wanted to do was to see him one last time. Of course, that had been impossible for a very long time, but that didn't stop her from trying to get as close to him as she could be. It hadn't surprised her that she would find them here today, but it had made her begin to think. She carried that night, that memory with her constantly, but she rarely allowed herself to relive that night. And today she had.  
  
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The mission was straight forward enough. They had just received intel that suggested that the scroll containing the Rambaldi prophecy that bore a drawing of a woman that looked incredibly like her had resurfaced after being stolen from the NSA storage facility over two years ago. Because of the nature of the scroll and the involvement of Rambaldi, Dixon had sent them to Zurich immediately. The flight was uncomfortable, but Sydney was gradually growing used to that feeling. Maybe one day she would grow comfortable with her uncomfortableness. She couldn't quite suppress a snort of laughter at that thought and looked up to the questioning gazes of Lauren and Vaughn.  
  
She shook her head and tried to come up with a suitable excuse to avoid explaining her thought. She didn't think it would seem quite so humorous out loud in the company she was with. She shook her head slightly and looked back down at the files she had supposedly been studying. Not that she needed to. This information was very familiar to her, after all it had only happened a few months ago. Vaughn, who remembered these events through the mental distance of the past two years and Lauren, who hadn't actually been there, were the ones that needed to review this information.  
  
Lauren shut the file she had been reading with a dull thwap. She looked over at Sydney, her eyes filled with curiosity. "So this is the last mission that you remember?"  
  
Sydney frowned slightly at the mention of her lost time, but nodded. "Actually I can remember a bit more. I remember getting home that night," She carefully left out the information that it had been Vaughn driving her home. As fun as it would be to watch Vaughn squirm, it wouldn't be polite to throw the past in Lauren's face like that when she was simply trying to be polite. "And then that big fight with Doren. The last thing I remember is passing out in my bedroom and then waking up in Hong Kong."  
  
For a moment all three of them looked uncomfortable and then they all felt the familiar sensation of the aircraft beginning its descent. The tense moment was gone, replaced by the familiar procedure of the bureaucracy that all three of them served. Vaughn easily broke the silence. "A car will be waiting to pick us up when we get to the airport. It will take us straight to his office. Of course, Sloane already knows that we're on our way." He glanced back and forth between the two women. "Sloane already knows what we'll be asking about and he probably won't want to cooperate."  
  
He focused on Sydney, "Syd are you going to be okay with this? Sloane's probably going to be focusing on you in there. He knows that this effects you most of all and when it comes to Rambaldi.." He trailed off. Sloane's actions towards her were well known.  
  
Sydney nodded, her face hardened into a mask of anger and resolve that for a moment looked scarily similar to her father's customary expression. "I'll be fine. I'm not about to give Sloane the satisfaction of letting him ruin my life anymore than he already has. I'm just waiting for him to slip up. The idea that Sloane would give up everything he had achieved and strive for world peace just because the machine he assembled uttered that one word doesn't make sense. I don't believe Sloane about anything, much less that. He could have at least come up with a more believable excuse for his supposed change of heart."  
  
An hour later the trio approached the office of Arvin Sloane. They knew they were expected and didn't even bother to look at the receptionist as they entered his office. "Sydney," he said fondly, "I'm glad you decided to come see me again." The grandfatherly look in his eyes made her want to puke. "I've missed working with you."  
  
She could see Vaughn taking a half-step forward to snap angrily back at Sloane and she was a heart beat away from telling him off herself, when he smoothly added. "But I'm sure your not here to reminisce." He paused with melodrama that she had never known he favored, although she supposed that now a days he had to get his kicks every way he could. "Although I suppose you are. You want to know about a Rambaldi document that I was last seen in my possession and has recently turned up on the black market."  
  
"That's correct," Lauren said curtly. She was the most used to dealing with him and unlike the others, her very brief history with him, while not pleasant, hadn't left her with a murderous loathing of the man.  
  
Sloane ignored her reply and kept his attention focused on Sydney. "It's a very interesting prophecy, you know," he added casually. He smiled smugly, "I was impressed with your inventive approach to outwitting the prophecy, but I don't believe that you can outwit your destiny so easily. In truth, Sydney, I think you're just now beginning to fulfill your destiny."  
  
The harsh ring of a cell phone broke the tableau of Sloane's speech, and everyone looked towards the noise. It was Lauren's cell. She raised to her ear, answering easily as she exited Sloane's office. Vaughn and Sydney barely appeared to notice her exit. Whether Sloane had truly captured their attention so completely or neither were willing to turn their back on him even for a moment, was debatable, but ultimately irrelevant.  
  
Now that Lauren was gone though, Sydney was tired of listening to Sloane. "Tell us what we need to know, Sloane. I don't need any more proof that you're a psychopath."  
  
He chuckled at her slightly, not appearing at all insulted or upset at her verbal jab. "Very well, Sydney," he said softly, and something in her voice made her take a slight step back, automatically shifting into a combat ready stance, "As you wish. Although, my dear, you should always be careful what you ask for." Arvin Sloane rose smoothly from his chair behind his desk, raised the pistol that had been concealed in his hand and shot Michael Vaughn point blank in the heart.  
  
For a moment the room was motionless and then he falls. Sydney will always remember that moment. How could she ever possibly forget? She was gripped by blinding rage. Raising her own weapon, she was intent on killing Sloane and then she heard him.  
  
"Syd," it was so soft and so weak that she barely recognized his voice, but she would know it anywhere. Arvin Sloane is forgotten. She was immediately kneeling down beside him, cradling his head in her arms. She knew that there was no chance to save him and yet, she couldn't choke back her sobs.  
  
"Vaughn," she whispered, "Oh God, Vaughn," there was nothing else she could say. She can see him slipping away from her.  
  
He griped her arm tightly, painfully, "Tell Lauren I love her." Something inside of her wanted to die when she heard that, but then she realizes that it can't die, because it died the moment she realized that he was dieing. She forced herself to nod, and then promises him that she will. If that was the last thing he would ever ask of her, then no matter how painful, she would grant his request.  
  
"Syd," he was so quiet now that she has to lean even closer to him to hear what he is saying. She's not even sure that he was still aware that she's there with him. "Always... loved you."  
  
In the next moment, Michael Vaughn was gone, leaving behind two women who will always love him and carry a place for him in their heart. Or in Sydney's case, have her whole heart consumed by him, until she is certain that she no longer has a heart.  
  
She was barely aware of Lauren entering the room moments later and of her grief and desperation. She remembered little of the days before his funeral and even less of the three weeks afterward before she disappeared, but she does know that she kept her promise to Vaughn. She did tell Lauren, but she will also go one step further. She would ensure Lauren's safety, for she found out one other thing at Vaughn's funeral. His wife was pregnant. All that is necessary now, is to rid the world of Arvin Sloane.  
  
Sydney doesn't remember exactly when the idea occurred to her or when she had committed herself to that course of action, to the point that it wasn't even a conscious decision on her part. Her father was the obvious candidate for any help that she might need or want, but in the end she hadn't turned to him. Not because she thought he wouldn't be there for her. She knew he would. He wouldn't refuse his daughter anything. He in fact, had been supporting her, giving her the strength to get through everyday since she had returned.  
  
Instead, she had gone to a more unlikely source. Irina Derevko, her mother. The look on Irina's face when Sydney had walked into her life and asked her for help had been priceless. Irina had helped, but she had also been surprisingly hesitant. She had wanted more than this life for her daughter. She had soon surpassed her mother, though. Seeking her mother's help was just the first step in her pursuit of Arvin Sloane. Within two years, she was higher on the CIA's most wanted list than her mother, and she was closer to getting Sloane than anyone else had been before her.  
  
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Movement draws her out of her memories and she realizes that Lauren and her son are on their way back to the car. She watches them approach for a moment and then easily steps out of the car. Sydney doesn't speak; she simply waits for Lauren to notice her. It only takes a moment. Lauren stiffens and she knows that she has been seen. Her knowledge is confirmed when she sees Lauren bend over and whisper in her son's ears. From the little boy's brief sullen look as he trudges towards the car, she imagines that it was a command for him to wait in the car.  
  
She doesn't move or react as Lauren approaches her. "What are you doing here?" Her voice holds a little bit of surprise and despite the harshness of her tone, Sydney somehow senses that it's not really directed at her, but truly even if it was she wouldn't care.  
  
"Unfinished business," she says, carefully, at last. She looks away at the little boy in the minivan. "He looks just like Vaughn." Her words are measured and careful, as if she has to treat every word with precision, as if it were a bomb that would blow up in her face without careful handling.  
  
Lauren nodded a small smile flitting over her face at the mention of her son, but it dies suddenly. "Is he in danger," she asks quickly.  
  
Sydney shakes her head, "No, I'm taking care of that." She pauses for a moment, "I'm turning myself in tomorrow morning."  
  
Lauren gasped. It was really the last thing that she had expected to hear Sydney say. She wasn't sure why she asked it, but in the next moment she heard herself asking, "Why? You know that they'll give you the death penalty. You're not your father or your mother."  
  
"I want to be able to see my father and what few friends I have left. I'm almost through with what I set out to do. When I'm done," she shrugged, "I don't really have anything else to live for. Power for power's sake never interested me. I've done everything for a reason." Sydney looks down at her watch before Lauren can reply. It's getting late. "You had better go. In a few hours this place won't be safe."  
  
For a moment, Lauren Reed gets some sense of what Sydney Bristow is planning to do and the desolation that she feels, the constant pain and anguish. She has compassion and she almost reaches out to the other woman with a comforting embrace. Something in Sydney's eyes stops her in the last moment and as she turns away, heeding Sydney's words, she realizes that she never got to meet the real Sydney Bristow. She mourns the death of the woman that she never truly knew but she doesn't turn back or offer her comfort, because she was lucky enough to be given something Sydney wasn't, the son of Michael Vaughn and he is first priority.  
  
Hours later the sun has set. Many would have called the darkness that had fallen over the graveyard eerie, but Sydney found it almost comforting, or at least familiar. She was waiting now, standing carefully in front of his grave. She hears the crunch of feet on grass, but doesn't turn. Her face is calm, but doesn't mask her murderous fury. She feels the cool butt of her pistol and its comforting weight resting in her hand; it does nothing to cool her fury, if anything it brings the heat of her anger into further contrast.  
  
The footsteps stop behind her. "Sloane," she says softly.  
  
She can almost feel his smug, but delighted smile from behind her. "You have surpassed anything I ever imagined you could become, Sydney. Rambaldi hardly did you justice when he said that you burned with anger."  
  
Sydney turned around at last and even in the dark, Sloane could see the hint of a smile flicker across her face. "You're right, Sloane. I have become everything that prophecy says. I suppose you see it as your greatest accomplishment, the achievement of one of Rambaldi's prophecy's architected by you. But you're forgetting the last line."  
  
..this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.  
  
"You killed Michael Vaughn because you knew that he meant more to me than anything else in this world. You knew that his death would transform me. It did. You made a mistake coming her tonight, Sloane. You think I hold the same twisted sort of affection for you that you pretend to hold for me. You're wrong."  
  
"Sydney," he started to speak, caution slipping into his voice for the first time that night.  
  
As if she hadn't even heard him speak, she easily raised her pistol and shot Arvin Sloane with professional precision. She moved like an automaton. The man that had haunted her life for almost a decade was dead and really, she didn't care. She had always known that killing Sloane wouldn't bring Vaughn back; it was simply something that had to be done.  
  
She took several steps forward until she stood over Sloane's body. Unbidden a quote that she had once heard in one of her literature classes floated into her mind.  
  
Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
  
She remembered thinking that it was an incredibly brave and inspiring sentiment at the time, but now she only found it sad, sad because Vaughn would never have that chance. For the first time in years she allowed tears to slip down her cheeks; she didn't bother to wipe them away, she simply walked away.  
  
Vaughn would never have the chance to "rage against the dying of the light," and she simply wouldn't, for her there was nothing left that was worth it. 


End file.
